


Shot Clock

by matteblack



Category: Crash Bandicoot (Video Games)
Genre: Continuation, Established... something, F/M, Older!Coco, She's like 18/19, eerie made me do this he's a DEMON AND WE'RE SINNING, i wonder what coco's doing now?, ntropy care a bandicoot and he really shouldn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matteblack/pseuds/matteblack
Summary: Even if he did figure out, Cortex had absolutely nothing to lose.But for the first time in the thousands of years he had existed, N. Tropy came to the sudden realization... that he did.
Relationships: Coco/N.Tropy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Shot Clock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clocksmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocksmith/gifts).



Doctor Nefarious Tropy paid little mind to the ramblings of Uka Uka as he stared past the mask and into the cold void of space in the glass pane behind him, murmuring distantly to himself as his long-time friend vented his… grievances.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice just because you came back the moment you left?!” raged Uka, the bones hanging from his gnarled form clattering together in a bout of unadulterated rage. “Where _were_ you? If anything, _when_ were you?!”

The scent of plums, the feel of soft claws clinking against his armor as the woman they belonged to fit his gauntlet back into place… it was only when the heat of Uka’s spittle dared splash against his armor that N.Tropy broke out of his trance, his bottle-green eyes flickering in the ancient deity’s direction.

“It was merely a brief temporal displacement,” he lied smoothly, his lips curling in disgust as he wiped away the flecks of saliva dripping down his front plating. “Happens on occasion, you know.”

How did masks even have the ability to spit in the first place?

“You expect me to believe that the self-proclaimed ‘Master of Time’ is just prone to blipping in and out of existence?!”

“I found myself abandoned in the Cenozoic period, injured in the late Antiquities, and then lost somewhere in the Middle Ages. It was but a moment for you, Uka. I see little need for such commotion.”

Tropy smoothed down the tails of his labcoat and folded his arms behind his back, his face an impassive mask before the gnashing of ancient teeth.

“You’ve left me in the past before,” snarled the vizard, floating in circles around the scientist. His amber eyes glowed hot with suspicion, burning with a glint that Nefarious had never seen before. “I don’t trust you, Tropy… but I need you. Get back to work on the generator, double time!”

The timelord almost scoffed.

Turning on his heels, N. Tropy distracted himself with the sound of his own footfalls clanking against the metal floor of Cortex’s latest space lair. As he headed towards the direction of the new generator, he pondered to himself, his fingers curling and uncurling with a gentle whirr.

What was this errant feeling in his core? This… _anxiety_? He looked down at the clock embedded in his being, but it ticked on as usual, the world continuing to turn despite his feelings as it always had.

Of course, he already knew; the sight of the bandicoot he had left adrift in her own bedsheets was still branded into his brain, serene and peaceful even with those ridiculous ringlets strewn across her face.

Was she alright, he wondered? Had she awoken yet? And furthermore, he worried as he turned a corner and into a steaming corridor, did she know he had kissed her?

He still hated himself for that.

The doctor’s fists clenched as he reflected on how foolish he felt, how _wrong_ it was for him to have let whatever was left in his chest rule his mind – they were enemies, and he was eons older than herself to boot.

 _It does **not** matter_, he thought to himself, brows furrowing as he saw the top of what appeared to be Cortex’s head dipped behind a bench. _It’s all in the past now._

“Ah, Tropy, there you are!” Cortex popped up from behind his workbench and heaved a large engine onto its surface, smattering oil everywhere. “Be a good little master of space or _whatever it is you are_ and move this into the trash compactor, won’t you? I can’t be expected to do _everything_ myself.”

With a short growl, N. Tropy materialized his tuning fork in his left arm, gripping it firmly as he pointed it at the machinery and bade it to float into the disposal unit right next to the mad doctor.

After his betrayal with his other self, this is what he had been reduced to – his power used for demeaning tasks, his proficiencies treated as parlor tricks. “Anything else?” drawled N. Tropy sarcastically, leering down at his coworker. “Perhaps I can go back in time and prevent your birth?”

“Very funny,” retorted Cortex flatly, dusting off his hands. “Luckily for you, I’m done here for the day. I can’t get anything done until N. Gin gets back from Earth, and you know what that buffoon is like with… you know. People.”

He made a flippant hand-gesture, shaking his head.

“Anyway, while you were gone, I got an idea, and I wanted to run it past you.”

Tropy let go of his tuning fork and it melted back into the aether from which it came. He lofted a brow, crossing his arms. “By ‘idea’, you mean you’re parroting something N. Brio muttered under his breath?”

Cortex rolled his eyes and beckoned for N. Tropy to follow him, leading him over to the supercomputer nestled in the center of the room. “No, you disloyal dolt. While you were busy getting lost in the past, I was thinking about our future. Or rather, every future!”

He pressed his fingers against the machine’s keys and input several codes; several formulas and models appeared holographically around them, a veritable galaxy of hypotheses and ideas.

“That other version of you, Tropy, the woman – she was from a different timeline from ours, right? But she wasn’t you, was she? Like, you two aren’t… related?” Cortex made a face not dissimilar to the one he’d made when he’d witnessed their display of emboldened intimacy, but it didn’t seem to phase his taller companion.

Tropy paused at that, genuinely surprised by his question. “Well, we aren’t genetically distinct… but I would be more willing to describe her as a representation of myself in her universe, rather than a copy of myself in another time or place. We are not the same person, but we moved in parallels, like split reflections.”

He frowned then, bending forward to meet Cortex’s gaze. “Please tell me you aren’t out there looking for a version of yourself that’s already killed your Crash, or, gods forbid…”

The implication was clear.

Cortex scoffed, offended. “You’re so _gross_ , oh my god. I’m not like you, kissing the first handsome version of myself I see! I was asking because I think I have an idea… what if we were to find a future where we’ve already won, kill _those_ versions of ourselves, and take over like nothing ever happened?”

Tropy snorted, his pride wounded but his demeanor remaining professional, nonetheless.

“Impossible,” he said simply, pulling a hologram close with his mechanical digits and turning it in his hand. “We are able to visit other dimensions and timelines, yes, but we cannot stop existing in this one. Ergo, were we to go to this nonsensical future and defeat our other selves, this place would cease to be as _we_ would then become the native incarnations of ourselves to that universe.”

Cortex’s eyes only widened at that, his lips splitting into a wide, malevolent grin.

“That’s… that’s perfect! If this place never existed, all of my failures, all of my mistakes… why didn’t we think of this in the first place?!”

Tropy opened his mouth to retort, but Cortex was already skittering down the hallway like a child after an ice-cream truck. “Imbecile,” he murmured, refocusing his attention to the model floating in his hand. “That blithering idiot will never figure it out.”

But as he turned and twisted Cortex’s idea between his forefinger and thumb, the realization of just what N. Tropy had divulged to his lesser companion hit him like a truck.

Even if he did figure out, Cortex had absolutely nothing to lose.

But for the first time in the thousands of years he had existed, N. Tropy came to the sudden realization that he _did_.

**Author's Note:**

> SORTA-COLLAB story thing, a continuation of A Broken Clock Is Right Twice A Day with my friend Clock! We're doing a kind of back-and-forth together, and this is my contribution because I can't get these two out of my BRAAAAAAAAAAINNNNN aaughghghhg happy coronavirus have a crackship [dabs into the aether]
> 
> ALSO shot clock is a good song u should listen to it [chef kiss]


End file.
